


Rabbit's Hand

by Beyondthelimit8266



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Gore, M/M, idk im having fun with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beyondthelimit8266/pseuds/Beyondthelimit8266
Summary: Jon gets his hand trapped underneath a car. To save Martin, he'd give up anything to get out.-Have you ever seen the Evil Dead remake? You know that scene where Jane Levy gets her hand trapped under a car and rips it off to get out? Yeah, this is that scene but written with Jon Sims and some random ass flesh entity.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Rabbit's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fun little thing I wrote. Thanks for reading it if you are. :)
> 
> It's pretty violent, so I hope you are okay with that. I will not be offended if you aren't.
> 
> Watch the Evil Dead remake if you like horror and gore. It good.

Jon's watery and wide eyes bolt to where he had last seen the entity, but the thing had vanished from his line of sight. It thought Jon was nothing more than trapped prey, and was off looking for something more entertaining to eat. 

Like a gunshot of brilliance, Jon's brain produces one frenzied name: Martin. The thing is looking for Martin. 

Heart pounding anew, Jon glances back to where his hand disappears underneath the upturned car, pinned underneath its torturous weight. He's trapped there like a helpless rabbit. 

Another thought blazes into his fogged mind: the hand is going to have to come off. 

Jon rests his head against the cool, slick metal of the car, listening to the tin drops of rain on its destroyed and dented doors. He smells the gas sloshing out of the crushed tank to be quickly washed away by the torrent or absorbed into the wet earth. He feels the moist, slippery rubber of the punctured tire, where his one free hand is still gripping it. 

He breathes in. Out. Feels the heavy raindrops on his eyelashes. 

He then heaves himself backwards, throwing his body heavily onto the wet ground. He feels the ever present pull on his wrist from where its pinned. 

Blindly, he gropes behind him, looking for the chainsaw he had dropped when the entity had flipped a Honda Civic on him. It is the most torturous feeling in the world when he feels his slick fingertips graze the plastic of the chainsaw's handle. He can hear it still buzzing, its teeth still spinning around and around, looking for something to cut into, something to cut off. But he can't reach it. He's laying flat on his back, stretching his free hand as far as he can. He claws at the mud, feeling it clog up underneath his fingernails. He touches the plastic handle of the chainsaw, but somehow, in his soul, he knows he will never be able to close his grip around it, and pull it closer. He won't be able to use it to free himself. He can feel the shattered bones of his crushed wrist screech in agony as he pulls and pulls. 

With a scream of desperation and frustration, Jon turns back onto his side. He's facing the car now. He can see himself in the wet metal. The warped vision of himself is curled like a fetus on the ground, being pelted by the pounding rain, and staring helplessly back. His dark hair is pasted onto his forehead, his cheeks pallid. His eyes are wide and terrified. Absolutely horrified. 

More than that, however, they're resigned. Determined. 

Absolutely pissed. 

With the silent frenzied confidence of a trapped wild animal, Jon grips his pinned wrist with his free hand, plants his feet onto the car, and with his whole body, begins to pull. 

The sheer agony is enough to blind and deafen him. His vision goes white and his ears ring. The bones of his wrist twist and wander as he stretches apart the skin and muscle. 

He feels his feet slipping and he tucks them closer, pushing them against the car as hard as he can in a desperate search for leverage. He pulls harder. The bruised and battered skin of his wrist finally splits. Blood wells up from the trench in his arm. 

Breaking his silence, Jon lets out an animalistic screech that burns his throat. He feels the few unbroken bones left in his wrist shatter apart, feels the blunt tear of his muscles and tendons and nerves. He's digging the fingernails of his free hand into the cold flesh of his pinned arm. He feels the fingers get coated in a warm flow of blood. He digs his fingernails in harder. 

With one last cry, Jon throws his head up toward the sky and kicks himself away from the car with every last bit of his strength. 

Almost too abruptly, he is thrust away from the car. Jon rests on the ground for moment, shell shocked and silent. He looks at the car. There's a brilliant spray of red blood marring the cars upturned door, quickly being washed away by the rain. Just beneath the spray, Jon can see where he had just been laying. He can see the broken hilt of his hand jutting out from under the car.

Quickly, Jon glances down to his now stunted wrist. It's a torn, ugly thing. His skin is coated in his rapidly fleeing blood. His skin looks like freshly torn paper, jagged and uneven. He can see the pale white of his broken bones, raising above the swimming red meat of his muscle like grotesque mountain peaks. His entire arm radiates heat and agony. 

Jon breathes in. Out. 

Slowly, he refigures out how to get his feet underneath him and stand again. The second he stands erect, nausea surges throughout his body like a piston. He almost pitches forward and falls again, but he stays standing, 

Jon feels the heavy raindrops on his eyelashes, and he lifts his gaze to the sky. He feels an incredible sense of clarity settle over him. 

Martin. One calm word settles on his mind. I have to save Martin. 

With trembling knees and one clammy palm, Jon makes his way towards the destitute and hideous shed he saw Martin scramble towards before his had been trapped. 

He only stops to close one solid grip around the wet plastic handle of the chainsaw.


End file.
